Bleed Into Me
by Tiefling Zhai
Summary: Lucy and Desmond try to dismantle Abstergo from the inside. However, their efforts are thwarted as they realize just how much of Altaïr bled into Desmond ... and Desmond bled into Altaïr.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

_Subject is developing signs of anxiety, paranoia, obsessive compulsive disorder and, most recently, multiple personality disorder. In addition, if subject's lack of sleep continues, he may be an insomniac, as well._

Lucy sighed and rested the clicker pencil's eraser on her lip. She knew the importance of full disclosure, but even she, in all her controlled, sterile objectivity, found it difficult to write the next line. Yet, she managed.

_I have been having sexual relations with the subject for the past three weeks. I am trying to become pregnant with the subject's child._

_Although it is difficult to diagnose oneself, I have seen in myself signs of the same conditions. Insomnia is the most obvious, followed by anxiety and paranoia._

_My own recent string of irrational actions -- pursuing a sexual relationship with the subject; conducting research with the Animus in an effort to overthrow Abstergo; forgoing condoms -- are all well outside of my norm. I view these as signs of my own deteriorating mental state._

_I have no doubt that Abstergo is well aware of all of these actions. But then again, that could be my paranoia. It is becoming increasingly difficult to tell. I take strides to hide my journal in my mattress and then to place hairs and other bits of dust on top of it. I check to see if these particles were moved when I go to retrieve the journal the following night. I realize that this is hardly a new trick: It didn't work in 1984, after all._

She cursed herself for allowing the journal to become more conversational again. It was meant to be a scientific record if it were ever found by anyone outside of Abstergo.

If, she repeated in her mind. But somehow, she doubted that either she or Desmond would ever see the outside world again.

Lucy glanced at the clock. 4 a.m. She knew the building never slept. Somewhere, people were working already, or hadn't gone to bed at all. Yet she was supposed to keep normal hours. Vidic kept a tight schedule, with each hour of his day mapped out in precise detail.

Much like his general disposition, Lucy thought. Except for his drinking problem.

As a result, Lucy usually worked a typical, white-collar 9 to 5 day. Yet not recently. Not since Desmond arrived.

_I am in love with Desmond. At least, I believe I am in love with Desmond. It is only natural for us to gravitate toward each other since we are both in the same predicament. We are trapped in a prison of stainless steel, glass doors and curt grins. _

_Yet isn't love something that grows out of shared experiences? _

Warren would be walking through the front door, about fifteen stories below from where she sat, in three short hours, but she hadn't slept at all. He always arrived two hours before he actually made it up to the labs. He had meetings with his superiors as well as research to comb over in preparation for the day's work.

Of course, "work" had been quiet recently, ever since Vidic and she had completed their objective with Desmond. They knew the locations of the Pieces of Eden, and somewhere, some teams of Abstergo operatives were out hunting for them.

But they would need more information, and that meant more memories. And more memories meant more subjects.

There was only one bed in the labs. One. That bed was currently occupied by Desmond.

Lucy had saved his life once, convincing Vidic that Desmond still had valuable information locked away inside his DNA. But how many more times? How much longer until men in white coats quietly shuffle him up a few floors, never to be seen again?

And how much longer until she herself made that walk? Would they come for her while she was working in the labs? Or would they come while she was lying in bed wide awake? She lived in constant fear of that moment.

_I don't want to die. Not yet, anyway._

Her pencil dropped as she heard a loud rapping on the door.

Her heart pounded in her throat, and her fingers began to quake.

But then the rush of adrenaline calmed as quickly as it had surged. At least now there would be no more waiting. At least now she wouldn't lie awake at night, wondering if the shots create excruciating pain while you're locked in your motionless, paralyzed body, as she had read.

"Ms. Stillman," a stern, male voice said as he pounded on the door again. "Ms. Stillman, we require your attention in the labs immediately."

This wasn't right, she thought. Those who were killed were always brought upstairs, not down to the labs.

"What is it, Dr. Kaputska?" she called out, trying to pitch her voice to sound thick with sleep.

"It is your subject. The bleeding has taken over his psyche."

The adrenaline came back in a wave. She knew what that meant, but she refused to say it. "What do you mean, Dr. Kaputska?"

"He believes he is his ancestor. And we think he's looking for you."

**Author Note:**

I do not own "Assassin's Creed." And for any of you who finished "When Death Begs," you know what I would do if I did own it! XD

This is a short intro ... After this chapter, I'll go back to my standard length of 2,000 to 3,000 words. I can't promise that my updates will be as regular as they were when I was doing the other one, either. But I will try my best!

This is rated M for violence and mild sexual content. If you read my other fic, you know I try to keep it pretty clean.

By the way, you do NOT have to read "When Death Begs" to follow this story. They are meant to be two complete separate stories. However, this technically does take place after the last chapter of my other fic. As a result, if you DID read all of the other one, I'll sneak in some tidbits for ya.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Move, Lucy thought. You have to move. Now.

She lurched her body out of bed and swiped her lab coat from a hanger in her small closet, which mostly contained more lab coats. Pulling it over her gray camisole and flannel pants, she rushed for the door of her dorm.

"I'm coming, Dr. Kaputska," she called as she slipped into her Abstergo-issued pair of white heels.

She swung the door open and couldn't help but squint as her eyes readjusted to the fluorescents, radiating out their false, course light. When she first joined the company, she always assumed she would someday get used to rarely seeing the sunlight. Not true.

Dr. Kaputska was waiting for her a few feet from her door. Her eyes widened when she saw that his lab coat had been slashed and a puddle of blood had formed at her doorstep.

"Doctor, should you seek medical attention?"

"Ms. Stillman," he said as he turned away from her and threw open the door to the stairwell. "Wouldn't it make more sense to first restrain the subject to prevent further mishaps?"

"Yes, sir," she said. The pair moved out of the hallway and into the stairwell. More gray walls, gray floors and fluorescent lights. While earning her English minor, she had read _The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test _and about the hippies and their Day-Glo paints. Back then, she didn't understand why they felt the need to muck everything up with those hideous colors. Just high, she always assumed.

But no, she thought as her heels clicked their way down the stairs, a few feet behind Dr. Kaputska. Color creates emotion. Color creates anger, passion, sadness, joy. And there was no room for emotion at Abstergo. If ever this place was brought down on its knees, she would come into the stairwells, the hallways, the offices, the labs, everywhere, actually, and throw that Day-Glo paint from one corner to the other.

Shit, she might just try some acid with Desmond while she was at it, she thought with a smirk.

Her thoughts were everywhere. She knew this. Anything to distract her from what was waiting for her in the labs. If she couldn't process what was happening, she always retreated back to books. The technique hadn't failed her before.

They reached their floor. Dr. Kaputska held open the door for her, and she rushed past him. In her mind, she was still thinking about Ken Kinsey and his hippy army and the Day-Glo paints. But her body was really running now, running toward the labs and the disaster she had no small part in creating.

She punched in her security code, and the double doors to the Animus labs slid open.

Desks had been turned over. One of the doctors she didn't recognize lay dead in the middle of the floor, a chunk of glass lodged in his throat. There were various trails and drops of blood all around the main area surrounding the Animus. The device itself was the only thing that appeared untouched.

And near the door to his quarters was Desmond, all four of his limbs sprawled out.

Another man in a white lab coat stood up, holding an empty syringe.

Her heart exploded in her chest. They've killed him, she realized.

"Dr. Contarini, no," she gasped.

He raised an eyebrow at her as he tossed the syringe in a trash can. "Ms. Stillman," he said slowly. "Surely even though you are still pursuing your doctorate, you can tell the difference between a dead man and one who has been sedated?" His voice was thick with condescension and amusement.

"Of course, sir," Lucy said. She pretended to straighten her lab coat as she struggled to regain her typical level gaze. "Yes, of course, Dr. Contarini. I only meant that we had much to accomplish with the subject today, and it is unfortunate that he had to be sedated. This will throw off the entire day's schedule."

"Yes, well," he said as he gestured to his surroundings, "I doubt there will be any opportunities for any work in this lab for some time."

Lucy caught the meaning behind those words. It would only take an hour, maybe two, for Abstergo employees to rush in and destroy all evidence of the incident. There was another reason that they wouldn't be continuing research with Desmond. One she wasn't ready to face. Not at 5 a.m. and with no sleep.

A stream of workers came through the door behind her, all in white suits and armed with various supplies to mop up the mess. Buckets, plastic bags, fingerprinting supplies, rubber gloves. All of the items white and free of any label or other marking. Some rolled Desmond onto a gurney and toward the elevator. Others zipped the dead doctor's body into a bag. A few more began scrubbing up the blood.

I wonder if any of the Day-Glo paints looked like blood, she wondered. And did it look like fresh blood? Dried blood?

"Ms. Stillman," Dr. Contarini said. "I request your presence at a meeting in Conference Room G in thirty minutes. It is regarding the subject. You must be debriefed on this morning's events. And I'm sure you can provide us with further insight. Since you work so closely with the subject."

She had been to one meeting like this before. At the last one, she had convinced the panel to spare Desmond's life. Vidic had been instrumental, since she had been successful in leading him to believe that Desmond had valuable information still locked away. If it hadn't been for him, her voice would have been drowned out, and Desmond would be nothing but ashes by now.

"Perhaps it best we wait until Dr. Vidic arrives," she suggested. "He is, after all, the leading researcher on this project. Although I have more direct contact with the subject, Dr. Vidic will be able to further explain the research that has been completed as well as the research in which we are currently engaged."

Dr. Contarini was giving orders to the harried workers, but he still managed to hear her. "Naturally, Ms. Stillman. Your direct supervisor has been informed and is preparing to depart his residence as we speak." He gestured to her flannel pajama pants with his pen. "Perhaps you should do the same, Ms. Stillman?"

"Yes, of course, sir," she said. "Right away, sir."

"And do try to be more observant, Ms. Stillman."

"Of course, Dr. Contarini, of course. A hectic morning, sir. But I won't let it happen again." She unintentionally lowered her head as she spoke, almost in the position of a Japanese bow of respect, as she began to shuffle toward the back of the lab. But humiliating herself was an old habit by now. In her mind, she was on a bus with about ten high beatniks, the sun filtering through the gaps in the paint to fall on her hands and face.

As she wrapped her hand around the gray handrail, the dream became more vivid. Desmond was across from her, his legs hoisted over the chair of the seat in front of him, a lazy smile and a joint on his lips.

Her card slipped through the security check of the residence floor, and she numbly unlocked the door to her quarters. Desmond grinned more widely at her as she slid in the seat next to him, slipping a flower behind his ear and wrapping her arms around his midsection.

What if that was the reality, and all of this -- Abstergo, the Animus, the Pieces of Eden -- was the fiction? she asked herself as she threw her clothes in a pile on the white tiles and walked into the shower. Which would be more believable to an outside observer? That a couple of college grads could try to resurrect the love child culture of the 1970s? Or that a couple of college grads were being kept in a corporate prison that sought world domination by obtaining information from the past by peering into people's minds -- no, their very souls?

And that she, Lucy Stillman, was in an equally secretive organization, attempting to bring that corporation to its knees?

She turned the water up hotter. Yes, the hippies seemed more feasible. She was living a story that wouldn't be believable to any normal person. Any person not living this.

Unconsciously, her fingers slipped into the sign of the Assassins.

Her dead brothers. Sisters. Her father, her mother. Desmond's parents. All of them, dead. The last of them, killed in their rescue attempt. That was the reality.

A thick, crushing misery began to congeal deep in her stomach. She could feel it growing in power and force, threatening to rise up and bend her over and cripple her with sobs.

But she wouldn't have it. This wasn't the reality. That is what she told herself. There was no way all of this could be happening to her. She forced her mind back on the bus, back in Desmond's sweaty arms as he passed the joint from his lips. After she took a hit, he finished it and then cupped her face in his hands. As he leaned into kiss her, Lucy ran his hand up his shirt to touch the flesh of his chest.

The water beating over her head, Lucy slipped her hand downward as the fantasy became more vivid.

* * *

_I see him._

Desmond's fists clenched as the hooded figure materialized in his vision.

_You've done this to me,_ he thought as he struggled to free himself from the gray chains that were binding him in place. He wanted to rush to this man, to pin him, to punch him, to watch his haughty features turn to blood and puss and broken bones and teeth underneath his fists.

_What do you want with me?_

But the figure, as always, gave no answer, just regarded him with a cool gaze, as if measuring the worth of his life.

Desmond knew, despite all of his anger, that the man could take him over again. He need only walk closer, and Desmond would be powerless. That was the strength of this man. That was the pull of his ancestor.

But he wouldn't go quietly. He thrashed and tugged at his binds, his face twisting in rage and his muscles straining.

From somewhere, well beyond the space, he heard voices.

"The sedative is wearing off. We must administer more."

"Dr. Vidic would not be pleased."

Hands were holding him down. The binds were made tighter as he continued to struggle.

"Yes, I concur," a disconnected, male voice said. "This is my subject, Dr. Hackbarth, and I will not have you making decisions that directly influence my work. Especially without my input."

"Dr. Vidic, I did not see you enter."

"Yes, well, I'm here now. And I would ask you to please move away from my patient."

"Yes, of course, sir. I only was acting as I thought best, sir. We fear for your subject's safety, as well as the safety of our orderlies and nurses. In this state, he is virtually uncontrollable."

"Dr. Hackbarth, leave my labs at once."

"Yes, sir."

Footsteps echoed above Desmond as his ancestor walked closer to him, his lips curling ever so slightly at the corners.

_You've fucked her, haven't you? That's why you're so smug. She thinks you're the better lover. You can never let me just have her, can you? Always when I'm close, when I think at last that she is mine, you take me over. _

"Desmond," he heard, as his ancestor approached touching distance. "Desmond.

"I know you can hear me."

_Vidic, _Desmond pleaded in his mind, _save me from this man. I hate you, fuck, I hate you, but save me from this man._

"You're lodged in a state of semi-consciousness, similar to the transfer state induced before the Animus can complete its alignment to your DNA. However, we have no off switches this time, do we?

"Luckily for you, I have a stimulant drug that might do the trick."

The ancestor's breath was cold as death on Desmond's neck. _Hurry._

_The needle slipped in the skin of Desmond's neck, and he immediately felt a hot wash take over his body. His teeth chattered, but he felt himself being pulled out of the space, away from his ancestor._

_He felt the glare of the fluorescents above him just momentarily before exhaustion forced him into a deep slumber._

* * *

**Author's Note:** My apologies for the ridiculously long break in between updates. I'm a first-year high school English teacher, and I spent most of my summer in a teacher "boot camp." Don't ask. At any rate, I'm back now and settling into a routine.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Straight backs and distant sets of eyes were seated at a long, gray table. White laptops squatted on the table, casting blue-gray glows on cold faces. Lab coats, black pens, manufactured breezes from the air conditioner turned on high, and a clock that never stopped ticking.

Lucy tried her best not to shiver in the stainless steel chair, but she couldn't find time to blow dry. Instead, she had thrown her hair up in a pony tail. Now, water droplets were sliding down her neck, each one like ice on her sensitive skin.

Her read the meeting's agenda, printed on Abstergo-issued paper with the Abstergo letterhead, for the twentieth time. At least.

God, she hated Helvetica. Why was it always Helvetica? Why not choose a font with some character to it?

Character. Funny. A smirk passed like early morning mist over her lips: faint, fleeting, but welcoming to any who had witnessed it.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Her eyes centered on a line in the center of the page, under new business.

**Patient 67789: Crisis Intervention and Determination of Future Course of Action.**

For once, why can't they type what they really mean? Desmond created a huge fucking mess, again, so we're going to decide if we're going to let him live or kill him in his sleep and throw his dead body in the incinerator, again.

Let the skin peel like paint, and his eyeballs explode, and his blood boil, and his muscles slide away, and his bones evaporate under the crushing pressure of the heat.

Be fucking honest for once. Shit.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

She had seen the incinerator once. The last patient, that was where she had gone. Her dear friend. Lucy knew she had crossed the line with her inquiries, but she couldn't stop herself. She had to know the truth. Of course, there was no truth to be found. Only shadowy corners and dead ends dropping away into oblivion.

And no matter how long she searched for her answers, it wouldn't matter. Not even divine truth would bring her back.

Jessie. What was it like to walk with the Aztecs, dead sister? Did you see the great temples? Sit with your ancestral family in rooms of glinting gold? Bear witness to one of the greatest societies on earth at its zenith?

I won't let Desmond join you. I swear it.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for the delay."

Lucy looked up to see Vidic entering the conference room, running his fingers through his closely cropped silver hair.

Lucy hated him. There was no denying that. But her boss was still the most "human" of all the researchers at Abstergo that she knew. His stress and anxiety prevented him from concealing all of his emotions like the others. Instead, he was a whirlwind of genius and success that commanded attention, like a tornado.

He always moved with his shoulders slightly hunched and his back rounded, always moving forward and beyond toward the horizon of his great ambitions. He moved like that then, as he approached Lucy's end of the table with his brief case clutched tightly to his body.

"I had to stop Dr. Hackbarth from further delaying my research," he muttered as he took his seat next to Lucy.

The younger, less published researcher was quick to defend himself. "Dr. Vidic, I assure you that I only seek to lift up the incredible results that have been coming from your labs. However, one of my nurses was slashed across the throat with a shard of glass, and is in our intensive care unit. And Dr. Kaputska earned himself a similar gash in the abdomen."

Vidic looked at Dr. Kaputska. "He's fine. Aren't you, Art?"

"Of course, Dr. Vidic, but that is not the point."

"So what is the goddamn point, Art? What is the goddamn point?"

"The point, Dr. Vidic," Dr. Kaputska said, careful to keep his voice level, "is that this panel must be provided with sufficient evidence that the benefits of your patient's continued presence at this lab outweigh the risks."

"Ms. Stillman can attest to that, can't you, Ms. Stillman? Under my supervision, she has unearthed a new string of memories, some of which may provide concrete evidence for the Piece of Eden's … how shall we say … less publicized abilities?" Vidic leaned back in his chair and folded his hands together, his expression smug.

"What exactly are you talking about, Dr. Vidic. Please be plain."

"Seeing into the future, my dear lady. Seeing into the future, plain and simple. Like a fortune teller's crystal ball, except this one is real and all for us. We just have to figure out how to use it."

Vidic let the stunned silence settle for a moment or two. He knew he had them, and he was loving every second of it. It was moments like these that he relished, that he rolled around in with relish.

Another researcher, Dr. Rotermund, cleared her throat. "That is a bold claim, Dr. Vidic."

"A bold claim that has been documented though the Animus," he retorted.

"How? I thought the subject could only find a connection with one ancestor, and you yourself reported to us that no more information could be obtained."

"Ah, yes. But ladies and gentlemen, through the gentle coaxing of my lovely assistant, the subject has managed to connect with another, albeit an indirect one. A written confession, of sorts, written by an indirect ancestor, which was then read by a direct ancestor."

"Coding it into the long-term memory of two of his ancestors, ensuring its existence on the Y chromosome."

Vidic nodded as he poured himself a glass of water from the sweating pitcher on the table. "Yes, yes, yes. Of course. And in this writing, the ancestor claimed that the Assassins have been using this ability for centuries to save their own asses. That is how they have been scratching out an existence right under our noses for all these centuries. Through the help of that thing."

He paused to swirl the ice in its glass and flashed the panel a smile. "But it is ours now. And if we play our cards right with this subject, ladies and gentlemen, we may figure out exactly how to use it. If that overrated gaggle of gypsies used the Piece of Eden to avoid us for all these years, think about what we could do with it. The potential of a tool like that, when wielded by the proper people. With proper goals."

Dr. Rotermund pushed her thick frames up her nose slightly. "But if the subject becomes completely detached …"

" … I'll throw him in the oven myself, Dr. Rotermund. But for now, dear little Desmond has developed a taste for my dear Lucy. So hopefully, his attachment to her will keep him attached to this reality." He took a drink and looked at the older female doctor through the glass. "For the time being, at least."

"Well then, if that's the case." Dr. Rotermund raised an eyebrow at Lucy. "Perhaps it best if you step into the observation room. I want to see how he reacts with only you present. If it is possible to continue the research with Ms. Stillman, then please, prove it."

"Lucy, go," Vidic said, gesturing to the door. "Go talk to him."

"Yes, sir. Yes, mam. Right away." She pushed her seat away from her and rose. A curtain had been blocking the view from a window that took up the entire westward wall of the conference room. It was a one-way mirror, and in the room was Desmond.

Lucy exited the conference room and turned down the hall. She nimbly punched in the code and locked eyes with the security guard.

"No matter what happens, do not enter."

"But Ms. Stillman, I …"

"No matter what. Those are not just orders from myself, but Dr. Vidic."

"Yes Ms. Stillman," he muttered as he watched her press "Enter" and slip into the room.

So stereotypical, with its padded walls and floors and ceiling. And Desmond, too, in a straight jacket and his hair all mussed and his thin frame slumped in a corner. This had to be a movie. Right?

"Desmond," she whispered, walking towards him. Her heels sunk deeply into the padded floor, like she was walking on a mattress. "Desmond, look at me."

Her lover wearily picked his head up.

Three blinks of her eyes. One, two, three. As quick as a ticking clock. He responded. One, two blinks.

They are watching, her blinks said.

I know, his said back.

So all that was about to transpire would be an act, and they were both eager to play their parts.

"Lucy," he said, his voice hoarse and his eyes bloodshot. "Lucy, thank fucking God. Thank fucking God, seriously. He really fucked me up this time, Lucy. I didn't think I was coming back that time."

Even though he was playing their usual game, Lucy could detect the sincerity in that last statement. They would have to talk later, much, much, later, when she could hack into the system and steal those few hours with him once again.

"I know," she responded.

"Lucy, fuck me, goddamnit. Please. I just need to feel something real. They're not watching, are they?"

"Of course not. It's just me."

"Then come here, please."

Lucy knelt down beside him and untied his arms, just as Desmond grabbed her by the waist and forced his tongue down her throat.

Could she really go through with this, knowing the panel was watching? They had always said that it may come down to this some day. Desmond's hands were already moving, one on her left breast and the other cupping her rear.

He was pulling her on top of him, her stockings rubbing against his starched pants. She threw her lab coat aside and hiked up her skirt. She could feel all of those cold, distant eyes on her legs, covered with gray stockings. But she couldn't deny the heat of his breath or his lengthening pressure on her upper thigh. She was getting aroused, despite herself.

How many of those old bastards would get a hard-on before this was all through? None, it turned out. Vidic pulled through.

The intercom clicked on. "That is more than enough, Ms. Stillman," he said, the mirth trickling through the crackling speaker. "Please rejoin us in the conference room."

She pulled herself away from him, putting her lab coat back on.

"Lucy, baby, you said they weren't watching!" Desmond cried, punching one of the padded walls. He grabbed his hair and bent over, his nose almost touching the ground. "Why, why, why did you lie to me like that? When you know what --"

"-- I didn't know, OK? I'm sorry. I'll see you later, OK? Hang in there."

"OK, OK," he said, straightening himself and sighing out his nose. "I'm sorry. You're right. We're going to get out of here, right Lucy?"

If only he was really that naïve, she thought. He knew he was going to die. He knew that she had little chance of surviving this, too. But in this reality, she could comfort her lover with two simple words: "Of course."

"OK, OK, OK …" he muttered, more to himself than to her, as he curled up in a corner. "I love you."

Her breath caught in her throat. Those words had not been said between them. It was an unspoken agreement: If there was no chance for a future, there was no need to go through the old traditions of relationships. They were forging this out their own way, in the tiny space of this skewed reality in which they were allowed to do so. But he was breaking out of that space.

Or maybe this was part of his act.

She continued trying to puzzle it out as she responded, "I love you, too." She couldn't meet his gaze.

But Desmond didn't notice. He had already closed his eyelids.

Lucy quietly punched the exit code into the door and strode past the security guard, ignoring his lewd glances at her calves.

When she reentered the conference room, she was met with polite applause. Vidic even tipped his water glass at her before taking a satisfied swallow.

* * *


End file.
